At least, through the rest of Guang-hong's routine, and into the start of Chris', when Victor is looking back and forth between the performance on the screen (Chris is on fire today, looking relaxed and confident, and has that been as uncomfortable a thought as it is right now?) and Yuri stretching first on the mat, and then against the wall. He seems focused, at any rate ... or, he does until Victor catches a glimpse of his expression and sees how blank his eyes are, how drawn his face, and realizes that Yuri is trembling.
No. Not trembling. Shaking. Out of fear or adrenaline or nerves or exhaustion, Victor doesn't know, but Chris lands a jump combination that makes the room burst into approving applause, and he can see Yuri's shoulders tightening and lifting under his jacket, followed by a hard shiver, and he comes to a sudden decision, clear and sharp as shattering glass. It's only a few steps to reach for Yuri and grasp him by the scruff of his jacket's collar to drag him off the wall, walking briskly away: from the room, from the televisions, from the competition, from the people crowding up Yuri's space and making it harder for him to breathe. "Yuri, let's warm up in a different spot."
In the end, Yuri will have to fight for those four minutes and change on his own, but until there, Victor can protect him as well as he's able: that's what a coach should do, right? Protect his skater. Comfort him, and lift his confidence. Right now, Yuri is the most fragile Victor's ever seen him, and watching the others skate and listening to the idle chatter in the room will only push him further, so where's the place with the fewest people? Somewhere safe for Yuri to warm up in peace, without pitting himself against every skater to take the ice before he does?
But there seems to be people everywhere they turn, and Victor keeps directing Yuri through other doors, into other hallways, until finally they're in the stairwell, and the only sound is that of their echoing footsteps. Yuri's just following wherever Victor directs him, and that's not good, but they're getting away from people, and that is, and Victor might not know exactly what to do to motivate Yuri now, or snap him out of this spiral, but he can at least give him the space to try and work through it, himself.
That space, it turns out, ends up being the garage below the rink, but it's fine, it's fine. For their purposes, they don't need anything else: all they need is space for Yuri to warm up and breathe in peace, and for that, it's perfect.
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Date: 2017-04-08 08:07 pm (UTC)At least, through the rest of Guang-hong's routine, and into the start of Chris', when Victor is looking back and forth between the performance on the screen (Chris is on fire today, looking relaxed and confident, and has that been as uncomfortable a thought as it is right now?) and Yuri stretching first on the mat, and then against the wall. He seems focused, at any rate ... or, he does until Victor catches a glimpse of his expression and sees how blank his eyes are, how drawn his face, and realizes that Yuri is trembling.
No. Not trembling. Shaking. Out of fear or adrenaline or nerves or exhaustion, Victor doesn't know, but Chris lands a jump combination that makes the room burst into approving applause, and he can see Yuri's shoulders tightening and lifting under his jacket, followed by a hard shiver, and he comes to a sudden decision, clear and sharp as shattering glass. It's only a few steps to reach for Yuri and grasp him by the scruff of his jacket's collar to drag him off the wall, walking briskly away: from the room, from the televisions, from the competition, from the people crowding up Yuri's space and making it harder for him to breathe. "Yuri, let's warm up in a different spot."
In the end, Yuri will have to fight for those four minutes and change on his own, but until there, Victor can protect him as well as he's able: that's what a coach should do, right? Protect his skater. Comfort him, and lift his confidence. Right now, Yuri is the most fragile Victor's ever seen him, and watching the others skate and listening to the idle chatter in the room will only push him further, so where's the place with the fewest people? Somewhere safe for Yuri to warm up in peace, without pitting himself against every skater to take the ice before he does?
But there seems to be people everywhere they turn, and Victor keeps directing Yuri through other doors, into other hallways, until finally they're in the stairwell, and the only sound is that of their echoing footsteps. Yuri's just following wherever Victor directs him, and that's not good, but they're getting away from people, and that is, and Victor might not know exactly what to do to motivate Yuri now, or snap him out of this spiral, but he can at least give him the space to try and work through it, himself.
That space, it turns out, ends up being the garage below the rink, but it's fine, it's fine. For their purposes, they don't need anything else: all they need is space for Yuri to warm up and breathe in peace, and for that, it's perfect.